The Hobos Are Coming! The Hobos Are Coming!

Your kids, your future kids, they dress so cute, don't they, with their Hanna Anderson and their Petit Bateau and their Zutano Baby matching little pants and coats and socks and, look, they've got bows in their hair. But my kids? My kids are hobos. The big one, she's got yogurt in her hair and mud on her pants and she's missing a sock and her face is covered in some kind of nose goop, but don't even think of trying to wipe it...she will eat you alive if you get within an inch of her face. And the baby? Her pants are too small, but that's because they're pink and I wanted it clear that she's a girl because her top is blue with fire trucks and lions because we're into hand-me-downs, but with the peach fuzz hair it gets tiresome always having to say girl.

The big hobo's pants don't fit right either. They did this morning in the house, but now, out here, her diaper pops out of the top of and you're probably noticing that the baby hobo's onsie isn't snapped so it keeps riding up her belly and kind of defeats the purpose of layers. There is spit on her fleece and her pants and a small bit of mystery yellow on her ankle. The baby's booties are forever falling off and instead of gloves there are socks on her hands.

As soon as we go inside anywhere, the big kid wants her shoes AND SOCKS off. Doesn't matter if we're in the bank or the library, if it comes off, she wants it off now. Like NOW!

Our diaper bag is a small country in the midst of a terrible civil war: wipes stuffed into a supposedly disposable wipe container, smushed diapers, an outfit that was supposed to be a back up outfit that was actually used to wipe up vomit, a sock, another different sock, a toy nobody wants to play with, an old spoon with dried peas on it, pacifiers that are the wrong size, a piece of cloth, a third and yet entirely different sock.

We drive in crumbs. There are cheddar bunny crumbs and graham cracker crumbs and little bits of apple peel crumbs and crumbs from bread and pretzels and rice cakes and muffins and corn chips and scones. There are the plastic peels from string cheese and boxes of raisins and apple cores of apples eaten long ago.

But your kids. We have high hopes for your kids. But be forewarned. The hobos are coming and they're not going back.